


John can't listen to Barry White without blushing now

by DrBDamned (orphan_account)



Series: Sweet Thing [3]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angry Sherlock, Barry White, Creepy Jim, Jim is Joey Tribbiani in disguise, John is John, M/M, Some Swearing, crackish, mention of red pants, some sexy sex (ish)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-28
Updated: 2015-05-28
Packaged: 2018-04-01 18:14:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4029781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/DrBDamned
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John is surprisingly easy to seduce.</p><p> </p><p>Takes place in AU after The Great Game. Back at Jim's place...</p>
            </blockquote>





	John can't listen to Barry White without blushing now

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! I'm back! More Johniarty, ayyyy! I was gonna do the sex but then I panicked. I might do a fill for it later if I can find the inspiration. I hope you enjoy, please review!
> 
>  
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock

They were slouched on Jim's couch, John straddling the genius's narrow hips, making out like horny teenagers when John got his thirtieth angry text from a very miffed Sherlock.

 

John freezes as his phone vibrates again on the floor under the coffee table next to John's shoes. Jim doesn't seem to take any notice of the noise - either that or he doesn't care about Sherlock's hissy fit - as he continues groping John's arse. The doctor would have been happy to continue the snogging as well, if his phone hadn't started vibrating again only seconds after it had stopped.

John sighs against Jim's mouth and places both his hands on the man's shoulders so that he can push himself up. He doesn't make it that far before Jim's hands are regretfully leaving his arse to push against John's elbows, making him collapse forward onto the Irishman again.

 

“Jim!” John tries to complain, but given that his mouth is currently being explored by the dark haired man's tongue it comes out as more of a moan, which seems to only spur Jim on. John frowns at him - which is surprisingly hard to do when you're face is that close to someone else's - and lifts his hand from where it's still resting on Jim's shoulder to poke him in the eye. John is victorious as Jim curses and finally stops that infernal kissing.

 

“Was that _really_ necessary, naughty kitty?” His hands are sitting on John's hips, and are starting to trail back down to cup the doctor's lovely behind, so John yanks himself off Jim's lap to stand in front of him with his arms folded and a frown darkening his face.

 

“Yes, it was, you poop. I need to text Sherlock back and you and your slobbery tongue were making that bloody impossible!”

 

He reaches down to grab his phone, but a pale hand with thin, nimble fingers flashes in front of his face to grab it before he can. John jumps in surprise and whips around to face a smug Jim, who's starting to leaf through the messages from Sherlock.

 

“Oh, my dear Johnny, you certainly are in big trouble.” Jim sing-songs, “Sherly's gonna bend you over his knee and smack your bottom until it's sore and red when you get back home.” Jim grins up at at John who's pouting angrily back at him. “But the spoiled brat can wait, because I obviously haven't been doing a very good job at seducing you if silly little Sherly's texts can still distract you.” He throws the phone over his shoulder where it lands with a loud crack on the wooden floor, and stalks towards a very confused and slightly aroused John.

 

“Eh?”

 

Jim gives the poor doctor no time to let his mind catch up before he's grinning down at him and happily announcing (really quite loudly, John might add) to the world at large, “I'm going to seduce you, John!”

 

And with a click of his fingers, Barry White starts playing out of some mysterious source, the lights dim, and John's being stripped of his jumper and pushed onto a bed he definitely hadn't noticed when he first came in.

 

“Wait, what-”

 

“I'm going to make you _melt,_ pretty boy.”

 

Jim has hopped onto the bed and is hovering over John, who's leaning as far back as he can get. The blonde is distracted from their proximity a second later when Jim makes a fist with the hand not holding him up, blows on it and then touches John's chest with the lightest of brushes from his forefinger. The buttons of John's shirt go flying off in all directions and Jim stares in delight and the newly revealed flushed chest.

 

“The fuck kind of witchcraft was that?! ”

 

But Jim apparently doesn't have time to talk about the time he'd clearly spent at Hogwarts, as he's already stripped John of his ruined shirt and is currently yanking down his trousers – underwear and all.

 

“Red pants, John? I never would have thought.”

 

Jim slips off the bed and John tries to use this time to get his breathing under control and slow down his erratic pulse, but he's finding it very hard to concentrate properly on anything other than Jim Moriarty seductively stripping his designer suit off in front of him whilst singing along to the song playing at the moment.

 

“ _Is it in your kiss or just because you're sweet...”_

 

And soon enough John's being given full, unimpeded view of a stark naked consulting criminal, who's licking his lips at John as if he's some kind of delicious meal or- _CHRIST THAT IS AN IMPRESSIVE ERECTION!_

 

His surprise must show on his face (Sherlock's always going on about how he's 'an open book'), as Jim starts giggling and kinda swinging his dick from side to side. He's obviously very proud of his dong, but the poor doctor hasn't a chance to roll his eyes before Jim's crawling back onto the bed. John tries to back away, but soon enough his head knocks against the headboard and he's left trapped as Jim straddles his waist and leans down so their faces are almost touching. John's eyes widen and he audibly gulps when he feels something very large pressing against his hip.

 

“Hold on tight Johnny, you're in for a wild ride.”

 

“Oh, _Jim_!”

 

 

 

 

 

It takes John what feels like ages to properly wake up the next morning. The first thing he is aware of is that he feels sore all over, his muscles aching – especially his butt ones. His poor aching butt hole. He stretches lethargically, and lets out a small moan, which draws out into something a lot breathier as he becomes aware of the most lovely sensations happening down at his crotch area.

 

_No, wait, God, that's not normal. What's happening?!_

 

The blogger manages to unstick his eyelashes and lifts his head to look blearily down at Jim, who's eagerly sucking his- thingy. _Y'know, his thingy..._

 

So last night wasn't some fudged up fantasy of his! Though a weirdly sexual dream involving Jim Moriarty and the talents of Barry White might have been easier to explain to Sherlock than the real life occurrence. He's going to be in so much trouble when he gets home.

 

John's brought out of his wonderings by a sharp slap to his left buttock.

 

“Ow, what the fuck, man?!”

 

Jim's stopped his ministrations and is pouting grumpily at John.

 

“You weren't paying enough attention to me! And you can stop fussing over how Sherlock's going to react when you get home. Daddy's got it all sorted out, so don't worry your pretty little head about it, kitten.”

 

The doctor pulls himself up into sitting position, and Jim huffs and copies his movement so that they're facing each other. John eyes Jim sceptically.

 

“And how have you sorted it all out then, may I ask?”

 

“In the simplest way possible! By never letting you leave! Now, let me finish what I started.”

 

John can only stare aghast as the Irishman lowers his head again.

 

 

“Oh, _Jim_!”

 

 

 

 

 

Of course, four hours later sees John limping up the steps to Baker Street. He takes a deep breath before knocking on the door. Sherlock answers, obviously, looking paler than usual and fit to murder. It takes him not seconds to take in the dishevelled mess of John's hair and clothes, and the poorly concealed series of hickeys across John's neck and collar bone, and in those seconds his face turns from merely angry, to absolutely murderous.

 

“JOHN HAMISH WATSON, GET INSIDE!”

 

The doctor winces at the mention of his sparsely used middle name – means Sherlock's _proper_ angry – then nods calmly and limps through the door.

 

His phone buzzes as Sherlock herds him up the stairs, and, despite the detective's protests, he takes it out and scans the text,  already guessing who it might be from before he reads it.

 

 

_Pick you up again tomorrow, sugar?_

 

_JM xxx_

 

 

 _Totally worth it_ , John thinks to himself as Sherlock begins what's sure to be a very extensive rant.

 

 

 

 


End file.
